


Memory of a Song

by Civilized_muppets



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Jaskier's fine it's just that Geralt thinks he's human), Altered Mental States, Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Modern Era, Reincarnation, Singer Jaskier | Dandelion, Siren Jaskier | Dandelion, Working Title: Geralt and Jask are DUMB AS SHIT, a lot of it, assumed death, not really but that's what Geralt thinks is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25314556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Civilized_muppets/pseuds/Civilized_muppets
Summary: Jaskier flipped through the papers, scanning the resumes of the applicants as he went. Hiring a bodyguard had turned out to be tedious, but if last month's incident had proved anything it was that he really needed one. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for in his applicants, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it.When he got to the final resume in the pile, he did a double take.Name: Geralt RiviaNo, Jaskier thought, it can’t be.***After the mountain, Jaskier returns to the sea for a few centuries. When he emerges, the world is certainly different, but not all of that’s a bad thing. He begins his musical career once again, but just when it’s starting to take off he’s attacked by a fan. He needs a bodyguard.He certainly wasn’t expecting Geralt of all people to apply for the job.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 140
Kudos: 1270





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the Toss It Back for Your Witcher discord for hearing me out last night, and to my best friend for the title.

Jaskier was perfectly fine, thank you. 

Sure, the man he considered to be his best friend had just thrown all twenty-two years of friendship in his face and basically told him he had hated him this whole time. And sure, he had had to make the long trek down the mountain alone. But he was fine.

Just. Fucking. Fine. 

Alright, alright. No he wasn’t. 

Twenty-two years of friendship.  _ Twenty-two years! _ Jaskier was a lot of things. He was angry-no, furious! How  _ dare _ that Witcher blame all the shit in his life on him! The Child Surprise was his own dumbass fault. Sure, Jaskier was the reason he was there in the first place, but really, what kind of idiot calls the Law of Surprise  _ immediately _ after seeing the havoc it could wreak? And speaking of idiocy, what kind of  _ absolute moron _ seeks out a djinn to  _ get some sleep? _ And how  _ exactly  _ was Geralt binding Yennefer to him  _ Jaskier’s _ fault? 

Honestly, if Geralt had really hated him so much, he should’ve just been a man and said that outright, instead of apparently suffering his presence for twenty-two years. Sure, Jaskier knew that Geralt hadn’t liked him much in the beginning, but he had thought that he’d grown on the Witcher. He’d thought that he’d seen small smiles pointed in his direction, that the lack of heat in Geralt’s voice when he told him to  _ ‘shut up, dammit Jaskier’ _ and the way they’d share a bed in inns and sleep next to each other on the road meant something.

Apparently, he’d been wrong. Very wrong.

Most of all, Jaskier was  _ wounded _ . He loved Geralt, he really did, and while he had never thought the man loved him in the same way, he had thought the man was  _ fond of him _ , at the very least. He had thought that they were  _ friends _ , that there was  _ affection _ there, even if it would never be love. He’d thought Geralt wasn’t the type to suffer the company of another when it wasn’t necessary. Jaskier had thought a lot of things. 

He had made his way to the coast, singing his new song in every tavern he came across. It wasn’t as much of a hit as ‘Toss a Coin’, but it made him enough coin regardless, and besides, he refused to sing the song that had made him famous. Not now. Maybe not ever again. It was hard to keep the emotions at bay when he sang ‘Her Sweet Kiss”, but he managed. He slept in a warm bed more nights than not, and what little trouble he encountered on the road he was able to  _ persuade _ to leave him alone without the watchful eyes of the Witcher on him. He tried to convince himself that life was good, that he was better off without his muse who had apparently hated him.

When he reached the coast, the sea called to him like an old friend. It beckoned him, sweetly murmuring about how he’d been gone for far too long. The wind ruffled his hair like an affectionate older brother, the smell of salt drifting along with it. 

For the first time in weeks, Jaskier smiled. He was home.

He didn’t bother shedding his expensive clothes before he began to walk into the water. He wouldn’t be coming back for them anyway. The water was cold, but he didn’t really feel it as he waded in further, the water rising to his knees, then his waist, then his chest. 

He could hear his brethren singing now, beckoning him closer. He was immune to their song and could have ignored it if he wanted to, but after everything, all he wanted was to follow their voices. After over twenty years of being alone on the surface, he wanted to be with his own kind beneath the waves more than anything. 

He walked deeper into the water, as it reached his neck, then his chin, then his eyes.

The master bard Jaskier’s head disappeared beneath the sea, and no human would see him again for centuries.

***

It took longer than he’d like to admit for Geralt to realize how badly he’d fucked up. 

Don’t get him wrong, he knew he’d made a mistake within the hour. He had considered going after Jaskier, but he had a contract to finish and he couldn’t just abandon it. He’d just make it up to the bard the next time he saw him. He always liked those expensive oils, maybe a new doublet; though Geralt didn’t quite have an ‘eye for fashion’, as the bard called it. Jaskier would be huffy about it at first, but as soon as he got his gift all would be forgiven just like every time before. 

Geralt bought chamomile oil next time he saw it a few weeks later to keep in his bag for whenever he next ran into Jaskier. A few weeks after that, a new set of lute strings joined it in its pouch. Geralt kept an eye out for the dramatic bard, but the only sign of him was his new song. It was being sung in every tavern Geralt stopped in. A tragic love song. A good one, all things considered, but something was… off about it.

The pronouns changed. 

Jaskier started the song with ‘I’, but in the middle switched to ‘you’, then back again. It was sloppy, something Jaskier would call a beginners mistake, something a ‘master bard of his caliber’ would never do. Except he had, apparently. It was strange.

It wasn’t until a year went by and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jaskier that he started to think the bard was purposefully avoiding him, or at least not seeking him out. Jaskier had never gone so long without running into him, not since they’d met in Posada all those years ago. It was then that he started to truly consider what he’d done.

Yennefer was one thing. He didn’t know what was real and what was djinn magic with her. It was too confusing trying to separate the two. It was probably better for both of them if they never saw each other again. Yennefer would certainly prefer it that way.

But Jaskier? 

Jaskier was a whole other story.

The bard was the one person who, time and time again, had chosen Geralt of his own free will. No djinn magic, no Law of Surprise, no mutations to share in the trauma of. Jaskier had chosen Geralt, not because destiny or some shit demanded it, but because he wanted to. He came back, again and again, no matter how dangerous it got on The Path. He was probably the only person who Geralt could call a true friend, not that he’d ever say that out loud. 

And Geralt had thrown all of that in his face, blamed him for every problem he’d had in his life the entire time they’d known each other, and wished to have the bard ‘taken off his hands’ in one fell swoop. Jaskier probably thought Geralt never wanted to see him again.

Which meant that Geralt would have to look for him this time. 

Geralt searched for a few weeks and figured out that Jaskier had headed for the coast, just like he said he would, before everything went to hell. 

Cintra fell, and suddenly he had a child to take care of, a daughter. A daughter who knew Jaskier, apparently. According to Ciri, he would come back to Cintra’s court to sing for her birthday every year except the last, when no one was able to find him. Ciri hadn’t known that Geralt and Jaskier knew each other when she told him that she feared that Nilfgaard had gotten to her favorite bard.

Suddenly Geralt couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. What if Jaskier had been captured? What if he was being tortured? What if he was dead? 

Geralt stewed on this until they found Yennefer, and she was well enough to use her chaos to determine whether or not Jaskier was okay. She couldn’t see him clearly, she said, but he was safe and he was home. Geralt would never admit this, but when he heard that the tension he’d been carrying for weeks abandoned him.

Geralt didn’t get a chance to begin the search for Jaskier again until Nilfgaard had been defeated. It wasn’t safe, he reasoned, to drag Jaskier into the conflict. The bard was just a human, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Niifgaard. Geralt was keeping him safe by leaving him be.

(It had nothing to do with how worried he was about how Jaskier would react upon seeing his face again, after all this time. Witchers don’t get worried.) 

But when it was all over and Nifgaard was defeated for good, Geralt had no more excuses and asked Yennefer if she could find Jaskier once again. Surprisingly, she couldn’t tell him much more than she had been able to at the beginning, just that he was safe, he was home, and he was among others like him. 

Geralt assumed this meant he was at Oxenfurt.

Except he wasn’t. 

Geralt searched high and low, but he could never find Jaskier. The bard had never told him where ‘home’ was for him, at least not that he remembered, and after he followed his trail to the coast it went completely cold. ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ was the last song he ever wrote, at least according to every bard he asked. After years of searching whenever he wasn’t on The Path, Geralt realized that Jaskier had probably died, by old age if nothing else. 

He never asked Yennefer to look in on him again. Even though he knew what she would find, he didn’t want the confirmation. 

The words that would turn out to be the last words he said to his friend would haunt him for centuries. He never got the chance to apologize, to fix it, to make it right. Jaskier had likely died thinking Geralt had blamed him for every wrong in his life. Maybe he’d even believed that the Witcher hated him.

His bag wore out eventually, and he had to buy a new one. Eventually, that one wore out too, and the cycle repeated. But with every new bag he bought, he made sure to have a small pouch for the chamomile and lute strings. 

A reminder. For his greatest friend, and his greatest mistake.

  
  



	2. Chapter 1

When Jaskier came back to the surface, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed.

They didn’t exactly have calendars beneath the waves, after all. Nor could you tell whether it was night or day if you were deep enough, which Jaskier and his brethren often were. The point was, time passed in a blur. By the time the desire to be among humans again became unbearable, Jaskier knew it had been quite a while. A few centuries. Five at the most. 

When he surfaced across the ocean from where he had gone under, he discovered he was off by around 250 years. 

It was the 21st century now, and wasn’t that a shock. There were  _ trains _ and  _ planes _ and  _ cell phones _ and  _ the internet _ . The world was so much bigger than he’d ever thought, and men had been to  _ the fucking moon _ . There was a new language to learn, a new system of currency, a new  _ everything _ .

Needless to say, it was a hell of an adjustment.

From what he could tell, most nonhumans had been killed or had gone into hiding. There were no more sorcerers running around, no more monsters attacking human settlements. No need for Witchers. From what he heard, most of them had died long ago anyway. 

He tried not to think too hard about that. (He tried very hard not to think about  _ Geralt. _ )

(Seven and a half centuries and it still hurt like a bitch)

The point was, with no Witchers or sorcerers running around to keep sirens like him in check, it was easy for Jaskier to set up shop. He couldn’t just appear out of nowhere and not expect trouble like he had the last time he had ventured to the surface. He learned that the hard way, and only his gift of  _ persuasion _ had gotten him out of the mess. There were documents he needed now, for identification, for education, for everything. Thankfully, it was easy enough to  _ persuade _ a man to forge those for him.

After exchanging the gold coins he had kept all those years for the new currency, he had more than enough to get an apartment and this wonderful new instrument called a  _ guitar _ . He taught himself how to play it using the internet, and soon he was playing in bars all across New York. A dash of his true Voice in the music, and it wasn’t long before he was approached for a record deal. His first album was a hit, and he was soon touring all across the U.S. He made sure to stay in the U.S. though, and not venture into Europe. He was reasonably sure that everyone who knew him was long gone by now, but he still didn’t want to take any chances. 

Everything was going great. His music was on the radio, his record deal was paying off, he regularly performed in front of an audience of thousands screaming his name, a rush greater than being a bard had ever given him. And better yet, people nowadays would listen to a song about almost anything. He no longer had to run off into dangerous situations to get ballad fodder. 

(He tries, desperately, to convince himself he doesn’t miss it. Miss  _ him _ .)

No more danger, no more fear, no more white-haired brooding assholes. Thousands cheering his name, listening to his songs, adoring him and his voice. This was the life. 

Yes, everything was going great. Until it wasn’t.

It was after a show in Vegas. The show had gone great. Jaskier had even given an encore for the lovely crowd. He had been relaxing in the green room of the venue when he heard a commotion outside and went to investigate. 

He was tackled as soon as he opened the door.

His head hit the ground with a loud  _ thunk _ , and suddenly everything was fuzzy. His vision was blurry, there was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t  _ stop _ . He tried to shove his attacker off of him, but he was too disoriented. Just as he was about to Sing them off of him, they were pulled off his body by the security of the venue, kicking and screaming the whole way, which absolutely  _ did not _ help the pain in his head. 

He was told that he had a concussion, that he had to stay awake for a few hours, that he should stay hydrated and take a Tylenol. As he stumbled to his bed in his tour bus, he wondered what would have happened if the  _ fan _ had attacked him somewhere  _ without _ security, and decided that that would never happen. He would just have to get his own security.

He needed a bodyguard. 

***

Geralt was not having a good few decades.

The monsters were either dying out or going into hiding and not bothering anyone, and he had never been one to attack a monster that wasn’t hurting anyone. Contracts became fewer and farther between. Witchers became obsolete. 

He had reached the end of The Path. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He had always assumed he’d die on The Path. He’d never in a million years thought he’d outlive it. What does a Witcher do when there are no more monsters left to kill? Vesemir had prepared him for every monster in the book, but he had never prepared him for this.

He tried to retire, to the coast, like Jaskier had wanted all those years ago, but he got restless and bored. A quiet life just wasn’t for him. He needed action, a life not incomparable to a whirlwind in order to cease the restlessness that grew in his bones.

He moved from place to place, all around Europe, a little bit of Asia, eventually ending up in North America. He moved from major city to major city, from Chicago to San Francisco to Miami to New York, where he decided to settle down for a while.

He looked at his options for careers now that being a Witcher wasn’t one. He joined the military for a while, but he didn’t like all the senseless killing, and so retired from it as soon as he was no longer active duty. He tried being a pilot for a while, only to discover he wasn’t very fond of heights. He tried construction, welding, and became an electrician. None of them fit. 

Finally, he decided to try his hand at being a bodyguard. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, as he had done similar things when he was still a Witcher. One could argue that he’d been Jaskier’s bodyguard whenever they traveled together, for all the trouble the bard got himself into that Geralt had to fish him out of. Guarding people, usually pompous nobles, was a dance he’d done before. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but he was good at it and it kept him busy.

He’d been doing it for about a decade when he came across the contract that would change everything.

It was a job offer from one Julian Pankratz, who was apparently a new singer who’d been attacked by a fan a few weeks ago and was now looking for protection. He was willing to pay handsomely, and because he wanted his bodyguard close room and board would be provided. The job would involve accompanying him on tours, to the studio, to music video shoots. All in all, it wasn’t a bad prospect. It would certainly keep him busy. Geralt submitted his resume later that same day.

When Geralt got off work, he didn’t stick around. He climbed into Roach, his fairly new black car, and took off immediately. As he drove back to his apartment, his eyes kept drifting towards the glovebox. It contained the chamomile oil and lute strings he’d bought for Jaskier all those centuries ago. Every now and then he’d open it and stare at them, thinking of what he’d lost and would never get back.

He did consider googling the man who might be his future employer, but he decided against it. Julian Pankratz was likely uninteresting beyond his musical career, and this would likely be just one in a string of uninteresting jobs. 

Later, Geralt would look back on the decision to not google his potential employer with relief. Who knew what he might have done if he’d had time to stew on what was to come?

He knew. He’d have withdrawn his resume and left the country out of fear of what would happen had he seen a picture of Julain Pankratz, or known of his stage name, Jaskier.

(Witcher’s don’t get scared. But he wasn’t a Witcher anymore, was he?)

As it was, in this moment, Geralt turned off the lights and went to sleep, blissfully unaware of the whirlwind his life was about to once again become. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, life got really busy for a while there and I didn't have the time to work on this. Shout out once again to the Toss It Back For Your Witcher discord server for listening to my ramblings last night. Enjoy the update!

It was some time after he had been attacked that Jaskier finally was able to get the ball rolling on acquiring a bodyguard. 

He had questioned his conviction to get one for a brief period. He was, after all, a siren for crying out loud, and quite a powerful one too. Anyone who could hear could be _persuaded_ to leave him be with a single word. But this wasn’t the 1200’s anymore. This was the 21st century. Everyone had a camera in their pocket and if he was found out to be a siren it would _not_ be good for his continued health. Humans still feared what was different, and while he hadn’t used his Voice beyond getting the record deal in the first place and his first single, and even then only to get people to pay attention to his music, he’d surely be killed for the suspicion of using it to manipulate the masses. 

No, a bodyguard was the best option. Which meant he would have to once again be accompanied by a big hulking brute who would stand behind him and look terrifying. Except this time, instead of following the brute, the brute would be following _him_. Oh, how the tables had turned.

Jaskier flipped through the papers, scanning the resumes of the applicants as he went. Hiring a bodyguard had turned out to be tedious, but if last month's incident had proved anything it was that he really needed one. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for in his applicants, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it.

When he got to the final resume in the pile, he did a double-take.

**Name: Geralt Rivia**

_No_ , Jaskier thought, _it can’t be_.

He scrutinized the resume closely, but he couldn’t find anything that would confirm or deny that this Geralt Rivia was his former friend beyond the name. There was no picture, and the resume only included bodyguard jobs from the last 10 years. Very impressive work, by far the most impressive of the bunch, but nothing that would be considered out of the ordinary. Google wasn’t much help either, it appeared that he didn’t have any social media, at least not any with his actual name.

Jaskier put down the pile of resumes and stared at the wall for a long moment. If it was the Geralt he had known, then he certainly didn’t want to see him. However, he didn’t want to deny a good applicant an interview if the only reason for doing so was a name he unfortunately shared with someone from Jaskier’s past. It likely wasn’t Geralt any way. It had been 750 years, after all. Geralt had probably died long ago. It was probably just a coincidence. 

Mind made up, Jaskier told his assistant Maddy to schedule an interview with a few of the applicants, Geralt Rivia included. 

And if the man did turn out to be his ex-best friend?

Well, Jaskier would cross that bridge when he _fucking_ came to it.

***

When Geralt got the news that he would be having an interview with Julian Pankratz, he was pleased. Coin (cash, he reminded himself) was running low, and this job would pay handsomely. Being a bodyguard wasn’t exactly his favorite career, but he had yet to find what his favored career was beyond The Path, and this one was as good as any.

( _Do what pleases you while you can,_ Jaskier had said on that damned mountain all those centuries ago. But Geralt had only found one thing that truly pleased him, and he had gone off to the coast, never to be seen again.)

Geralt prepared for the interview like he would any other. He had never been good with words, but he had learned enough over the centuries to be diplomatic enough to get a job. He showered, brushed his teeth, put on a suit, tied his hair back, and was out the door. He drove Roach to the building the interview would be held in silence, never really caring for what was on the radio. Music didn’t appeal to him much nowadays. Never had really.

( _Liar,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously familiar singsonged playfully in his mind.)

He got out of his car, took the elevator up to the floor his interview would be held on, greeted the secretary, and waited patiently for his interview.

So far, so normal.

When he was called in to speak with the man who would hopefully become his employer, he was perfectly calm. He had faced wyverns and kikimores, dopplers and bruxa. A job interview was nothing to be afraid of, at least not to him.

All that calmness promptly flew out the window the second he laid eyes on Julian Pankratz. 

He had short brown hair and cornflower blue eyes, and he had turned around with a smile, ready to greet him. Geralt was probably being rude by not responding to whatever greeting the man had bestowed, but all he could think was _fuck, that’s Jaskier_. 

Geralt’s first reaction was one of pure joy. After all this time, he had found Jaskier even when he was no longer looking. He could _apologize_ , finally, he could make it up to him, he could fucking fix his greatest mistake, he could have his best friend back.

His second reaction, though he’d never admit it out loud, was one of fear. Jaskier was surely angry with him, even after all this time. What Geralt had said to him was absolutely horrible, Jaskier would have every right to turn him away, to scream and rage at him for his transgressions. Geralt would certainly deserve it, even if the act had been 750 years ago.

This thought led to his third reaction: pure confusion. The bard was human, so how was he here? Humans only live one century if they’re extremely lucky, much less almost _eight_. And Jaskier didn’t look a day over 23.

Which led to his conclusion: Jaskier had been reincarnated.

Everything came crashing down around him. 

There were stories about reincarnation, and Geralt knew for certain it was a thing that happened, as he had lived long enough to see an alderman he had dealt with once be reincarnated into a stablehand in a completely different kingdom. It was a wonderful thing for humans, to get a second chance, to live again.

But, as always, there was a catch.

There were plenty of cautionary tales about what would happen if a reincarnated person ever remembered their old life. The kindest versions said they lived with terrible headaches for the rest of their days as their memories of their two lives tried to reconcile with each other. Others said that the memories of their old life drove them mad. Others still said the memories killed them outright. 

Geralt could do nothing. He couldn’t act like he knew Jaskier, he couldn’t apologize, he couldn’t make his excuses and leave. Not without risking Jaskier. Geralt had hurt him enough, he wouldn’t add to the pain with this fresh start destiny seemed to have given him. So, he gave his most non-threatening smile, held out his hand for the former bard to shake, introduced himself as _Geralt Rivia, job applicant_ instead of _Geralt of Rivia, Witcher_ , and prayed to Melitele that seeing him wouldn’t be enough to trigger anything.

(Had he not been so caught up in his own head, he would have noticed how the smile had slipped off Jaskier’s face the moment he saw him, how his eyes flashed with something dangerous yet infinitely sad. He would have smelled the rage and depression that filled the air, how Jaskier’s hands were shaking as he smiled once again and introduced himself as _Julian Pankratz_ , _you may know me as Jaskier_ . He could have saved them both a lot of heartache had he just been _paying attention_ like Vesemir had taught him to. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.)

The job interview itself was a blur. Geralt picked his words carefully, desperately trying to make sure he wouldn’t bring back Jaskier’s memories by saying something too familiar. He didn’t remember what Jaskier asked him, nor his replies. He was trying too hard not to stare as he politely kept eye contact with those cornflower blue eyes that he had missed so much for so long. When it was over, he shook Jaskier’s hand again and forced himself to walk out the door without looking back, no matter how much he wanted to stay.

When he got back into Roach, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel for a long moment, took a deep breath, and tried his best to pull himself together before driving home. 

For years he had wondered what he would say to Jaskier if he had the chance to speak with him one last time. He never in a million years thought that he would actually get his chance, or that he would have to waste it for Jaskier’s sake. 

When he got back to his apartment, he took the lute strings and chamomile oil out of the glovebox and stared at them for a while. The reminders of his greatest mistake that he would never get to fix. 

It was fine, he told himself. He had moved on before, he could do it once more. He would never see Jaskier’s new incarnation again. He wouldn’t run the risk of ruining Jaskier’s life this time. He would leave the human be, and they would both be better off for it.

( _Liar_ , the familiar voice said again. Except this time it wasn’t playful. It was infinitely sad.)

  
  



	4. Chapter 3

Jaskier didn’t remember leaving the building. He didn’t remember getting into the car with his driver or telling the driver to take him back to his apartment. He didn’t remember getting into the elevator or entering the apartment itself. He must have done those things though, because here he was, standing in his living room, taking deep breaths trying to calm his nerves.

In. Out. In. Out.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block out the world, but then he could see Geralt again, the shock in his eyes, the flickering emotions that Jaskier had once been able to read like an open book but  _ couldn’t now- _

Geralt sticking his hand out and introducing himself as if he didn’t know him, as though  _ twenty-two years _ together meant absolutely  _ nothing _ -

Jaskier was brought back to himself by a crashing noise, and he realized that in his rage he had thrown a plate at the wall.

That lumpish earth-vexing codpiece. That mumbling onion eyed varlot. That abominable rough-hewn joithead. That fucking- cold corndog of a man. If Jaskier ever saw him again he was going to kick his ass so hard his vertebrae came out of his mouth like a fucking  _ Pez dispenser _ -

Okay, this was solving nothing. Yes, Jaskier was angry. Pissed as hell. Furious. The fires of hell could not compare to the burning rage he was feeling right now. But it would do him no good. New York was a big city, and Jaskier spent a fair amount of his time traveling around. They’d likely never run into each other again. He’d heard somewhere that holding onto anger wasn’t good for you. And he was  _ so tired _ of being angry.

He was on the floor now, when had that happened? Jaskier sighed, picked himself up, and laid down on his couch. Much more comfortable. 

He tried to watch T.V., tried to take his mind off of Geralt and how he was apparently  _ still alive _ 750 years later, and apparently had no fond memories of the  _ annoying human bard that followed him around- _

Wait.

Jaskier bolted upright as though he had been shocked by lightning, breathing heavily with the realization.

_ Human _ .

Geralt thought he was human. And the only way a human could still be around 750 years later was reincarnation.

Jaskier had heard the stories about what supposedly happened to humans who were reincarnated and remembered their past lives. They weren’t exactly common, but Jaskier was a bard first and foremost, and stories were his lifeblood. He soaked up every story he could get his hands on, hoarded them like a dragon with its gold. He knew that they told of debilitating headaches at best, insanity and death at worst. 

Geralt, as a Witcher, had probably heard them too.

The fool had been trying to  _ protect him _ .

Honestly, did that idiot ever use his head for something other than a container for his fucking teeth?

(Some part of him, deep down and shoved away, was preening at the thought that Geralt had seen Jaskier as something worth protecting. The rest of him, the parts that had grown bitter, told that tiny part to shut up. Geralt was nothing if not a good man, he would have done it for anyone, even someone he hated. The part of Jaskier that still loved the wolf, even after everything and all this time, did not care in the slightest.)

So. Geralt, while still an ass, was perhaps not as much of an ass as Jaksier had thought. 

In the end, this changed very little. 

Jaskier was still planning on never seeing him again. Maybe, if he did, he wouldn’t kick his ass. But that chapter of his life was still over and done with. It wasn’t  _ Jaskier and Geralt _ anymore, it was just  _ Jaskier _ . Had been for over seven and a half centuries now, and it would continue to be so until he finally kicked it, which probably wouldn’t be for quite a while now that Witchers were no longer a concern. This was fine. He was fine with being mostly alone until he lost his wanderlust again and decided to return to the sea. Perfectly  _ fine _ .

His phone buzzed from where it was laying on his thigh, and he sighed. He really didn’t want to deal with work right now, but work people were the only people who ever texted him, so work is what it was bound to be.

**Maddy:**

**I took the liberty of offering the position to the most impressive applicant.**

Jaskier’s heart stopped. The most impressive applicant had been… No, he must be wrong. But he had to check.

**Julian:**

**And that would be…?**

**Maddy:**

**Geralt Rivia.**

Jaskier let out a hysterical laugh. Of course,  _ of course _ destiny would not let him off that easy. When had destiny  _ ever _ let him off easy?!

He took a deep breath.

This was alright though. Geralt may have suffered Jaskier’s presence when Jaskier demanded he do so, but he surely wouldn’t when he was given the option not to. Geralt wouldn’t take the offer, Jaskier would offer the job to the next most impressive applicant, and they would both go about their lives without the other. It was all going to be okay. 

**Julian:**

**Perfect, thank you.**

Jaskier put his phone down on the coffee table and headed toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of his good wine. It was all going to be okay, he was sure of it, but tonight he was going to get  _ fantastically drunk _ . Tomorrow morning he would wake up hungover to the news that Geralt had turned the offer down, and all would be right with the world.

(That small part of him that still loved Geralt, still craved the white wolf's presence and affection, gave a sad little whimper at the thought of truly never seeing the Witcher again. Jaskier resolutely ignored it, like he had been for the past 750 years.)

(And if that part of him was bigger than he cared to admit, even after all this time, then no one ever needed to know.)

***

Geralt stared at the job offer in shock.

Apparently he had done well enough during his interview that he didn’t remember in the slightest to be offered the job. He was honestly kind of proud of himself for how far his interpersonal skills had become in the last few centuries if he managed to pull that off. 

But no matter, he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t risk Jaskier like that. 

Geralt stood up from his desk and went to his kitchen to make dinner, a skill he had also improved on quite a bit from his days as a Witcher. He tried to focus on cooking, but found that he couldn’t. 

Could he really turn down this opportunity? To see Jaskier again, every day like he’d wanted to for centuries? How many times had he played that game with himself where he thought about what he would give just for one more day with Jaskier? How many times had he found the answer was almost anything? How many times had he lied awake at night, imagining those cornflower blue eyes looking into his once again, that voice ringing in his ears long after the singer was gone?

Geralt ended up injuring himself trying to cut the chicken in his distraction, and though it would heal quickly he decided to make sandwiches for dinner instead. 

No, Geralt couldn’t. He couldn’t risk Jaskier like that. If he said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing and it all came rushing back, he would never forgive himself. 

But clearly, his presence alone wasn’t enough to do it if Jaskier had been able to get through the interview without issue. He would have to be careful, but…

Geralt opened youtube on his phone and searched Jaskier’s name, finding his new songs. He listened to them, to that voice he had missed so much, and found that he couldn’t bear the thought of turning away from Jaskier again. The singer had put up the job offer because he needed a bodyguard, because he had been attacked, and if Geralt got the offer this soon he was almost certainly the best applicant by far. 

Geralt spent the rest of the night googling Jaskier, his new life, his new career, the incident that had made him seek a bodyguard in the first place. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t much on his personal life. Geralt had never realized it until after he was gone, but Jaskier was actually a very private person. Geralt had traveled with the man for two decades and knew nothing about his childhood, his parents, where he grew up. It seemed that the trait had carried over. 

As for his career, he was a surprisingly successful singer for only having one album. It seemed he’d taken the world by storm as soon as he arrived on the scene, and was up for several awards for his first album. Geralt listened to the songs, and while they weren’t the ballads of adventures he was used to when Jaskier had been a bard, he could certainly see the appeal.

And then, the incident. 

Jaskier had been performing in Vegas when a fan snuck past security and managed to make it to the green room before she was noticed. Security had tried to stop her, but when Jaskier poked his head out to investigate the noise, she had broken away from security and tackled him, giving him a concussion. It took them a full minute to get the fan off of him. No wonder Jaskier was looking for personal protection now. 

Jaskier needed someone to protect him, and who better for the job than the man who had done it for twenty-two years? And if Geralt had to protect him from more than people, had to protect him from the memories of his past life as well, then he had no complaints. 

( _ You’re a selfish mutant, Witcher _ , an ugly voice whispered in his mind, sounding like every angry alderman he’d ever encountered. Geralt acknowledged the voice with a  _ yes, and? _ )

Geralt sent word that he accepted the offer a few hours after he got it, and fell asleep that night to Jaskier’s voice ringing in his ears like he had done so many years ago on The Path. 

  
Geralt didn’t know what the future would hold for them, but he knew they would tackle it together.  _ Jaskier and Geralt.  _ He had missed that. 


	5. Chapter 4

Geralt took the job.

What the _fuck_.

Jaskier knows for a fucking _fact_ that Geralt had merely tolerated his presence, so why on earth was he _volunteering_ to accompany Jaskier everywhere? 

Was it the money? Jaskier could admit that he was offering a pretty sweet deal in terms of pay, but he could certainly afford it, and it was far from the best. Besides, with a resume like Geralt’s, He shouldn’t have a problem getting any of the higher-paying jobs. 

Was it the apartment Jaskier was offering? It was his old apartment, from before he had gotten the money from his record deal, and while it was a very nice apartment, it wasn’t the nicest on the market. His current apartment was certainly nicer than his old one. But his lease on his old apartment wasn’t up for another year, so he figured it might as well be used instead of gathering dust.

Jaskier paused in his pacing to heave a heavy sigh. There was a time when he could have known the Witcher’s motivations in an instant. He had known Geralt as well as he knew himself, though it had taken quite a while to learn how to interpret his _hmm’_ s and _fuck’_ s. He would have known exactly why he was doing this, he wouldn’t have had to ponder and agonize over it.

Except he hadn’t, had he?

Clearly, he hadn’t known Geralt as well as he thought he had.

No matter, Geralt would certainly quit soon anyway. He would tire of Jaskier quickly, everyone did, and he would quit rather than stick around, and Jaskier would hire a new bodyguard and never think about Geralt of Rivia again.

(He had been thinking about Geralt for 750 years, he certainly wasn’t going to stop now.)

It would be a few days, maybe a week, two weeks at the most. Then this farce could be over and done with and they could both move on with their lives. 

Geralt’s first day had been unsettling. He had sat in the back of the car with Jaskier while the driver drove them to a meeting with the record label. Jaskier had figured that if he were silent he wouldn’t have to talk, as Geralt had never been one for conversation and certainly wasn’t one for starting it, only to be surprised when Geralt tentatively began to ask him questions after a few minutes. Nothing personal, just general icebreakers. _What’s your favorite color? Cats or dogs? Coffee or tea?_

And, well, Jaskier didn’t particularly want to talk, but he didn’t want to be antagonistic to the man who, at least for a brief period, would be in charge of his safety, so he answered amicably. _Blue, dogs, coffee._ And then Geralt asked him what his favorite song was, and Jaskier couldn’t help himself. He ended up going on a rant about the musical masterpiece that was the ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, and when he was done he ended up glancing at Geralt who had the strangest look on his face. Jaskier would call it fond if he didn’t know better. 

Thankfully, they were at their destination, and Jaskier didn’t have to open that particular can of worms. The meeting was quick, and on the way back to his apartment Jaskier decided to see how Geralt was settling into his old one. The conversation was slightly stilted at first, but they soon settled into an old rhythm without realizing it. Geralt even cracked a joke which was so funny and unexpected that Jaskier was almost crying from laughter before he stopped abruptly. 

He shouldn’t get comfortable. This wasn’t going to last. Geralt would be gone again soon and Jaskier didn’t want his heart to be broken when he did. Geralt asked him what was wrong, but Jaskier brushed him off coldly. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, as well as the walk back to Jaskier’s apartment. Jaskier bid Geralt a quick, polite goodbye, and didn’t look back as he walked through the door. 

Which led him to where he was now. Pacing and contemplating Geralt’s motives. 

Jaskier sighed and decided it really didn’t matter what Geralt’s motives were. Whatever had possessed him to take this job certainly wouldn’t keep a hold of him for very long. Geralt was sensible like that. 

This wouldn’t last long, Jaskier was sure of it.

(That part of him that he tried very hard to ignore was quite disappointed in this thought. This only made Jaskier dig his heels in the sand and think it again with more conviction.)

No, this would all be over soon. A few weeks at the most of enduring his heartbreak and then he could go back to his incredible (not at all empty) life. 

***

When Geralt first stepped into his new apartment he was hit with the overwhelming smell of Chamomile, sandalwood, and sea salt. A scent he had always secretly adored. 

_Jaskier._

The singer must have lived here for some time, a few months at least, though it had been just as long since he’d set foot in it for longer than a few minutes. But a Witcher’s nose was an incredible thing, and Geralt was more attuned to this specific scent, even after all this time, than anyone else’s. 

Geralt supposed it made sense. Jaskier had likely moved when he got his record deal, but the lease for his first apartment might not be up yet, so he just had an empty apartment lying around. Might as well offer it to the bodyguard. 

The scent of Jaskier was comforting, even after all this time. Jaskier meant safety, meant a room at the inn with a bath waiting for him at the end of a hunt, meant music and motion and laughter. Jaskier for a long time had been a near-constant, flighty until Geralt needed him to be reliable, in which case he was as steady as a rock. 

Geralt was such a fool for pushing him away.

But he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that. He had a second chance now, and even if he couldn’t spend it the way he’d always thought he would, he would certainly be making the most of it. Besides, he had to actually move into his new apartment.

His first day on the job was full of surprises. Jaskier wasn’t quite like Geralt thought he’d be. When he’d gotten into the car with him, he’d expected the former bard to start talking immediately. Jaskier could never stand the silence, so Geralt wasn’t expecting any in the man’s company.

Expect that’s exactly what he got. 

For the first few minutes, Jaskier was seemingly content to mindlessly scroll through Instagram on his phone, though Geralt could smell his unease. So Geralt decided that it would be up to him to break the silence, and he started asking Jaskier questions. Nothing personal, he knew how private Jaskier was, but easy, simple questions that would help Geralt get to know the new Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s answers were polite, short and to the point. So Geralt decided to pull out the big guns: he asked Jaskier about music.

Jaskier was off like a rocket, talking about that one Queen song that everyone loved which was apparently a ‘musical masterpiece’, and _there_ he was. _There_ was the Jaskier Geralt had known. He was still there, just a little shyer. Which is a word he never thought he’d think in conjunction with Jaskier, but reincarnation had apparently changed him a little. That was alright though, Geralt had changed too, and he’d be quite the shitty friend if he expected Jaskier to be exactly the same after all this time. 

Geralt looked on as Jaskier ranted with a small smile and a fond look in his eyes until Jaskier reached the end of his rant and they reached their destination. He accompanied Jaskier to his meeting, standing by the doorway silently until the meeting ended and then followed the singer back out to the car. 

This time Jaskier started the conversation. He asked about how Geralt was settling into the apartment, and they talked about that for a while before Geralt cracked a joke that he knew Jaskier would find funny. And find it funny he did, almost doubled over with laughter until it abruptly stopped and the scent of sadness filled the air. Geralt asked Jaskier if he was alright, but Jaskier glared at him and brushed him off. Geralt didn’t attempt to make conversation again.

The silence prevailed until they were in front of Jaskier’s door, where the man told him goodbye politely, if a little coldly, and walked into his apartment without a second glance.

Geralt was confused. What had caused that sudden shift of emotion? Jaskier had gone from happy to incredibly sad in the blink of an eye for no apparent reason. Geralt wasn’t only confused, he was _upset._ Jaskier being upset made him upset, especially because Jaskier seemed to be upset at _him_.

He wanted Jaskier to never be upset. He wanted him to always be happy, to always have a reason to smile. He knew it was irrational, that nothing could keep Jaskier only happy forever, but feelings, he had discovered once he had accepted that he had them, were rarely rational. 

But why? He had never felt like this for anyone else, though he remembered feeling like this towards Jaskier occasionally during his first life. He had felt something similar for Ciri, but that was different, somehow. DIfferent flavors of the same emotion. And what he felt for Ciri was...

As he lay on his bed, surrounded by the scent of Jaskier, pondering his emotions in regards to the former bard, he was struck by a sudden realization.

He was in love with Jaskier.

_...Fuck._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that was a bit redundant, but I thought it was important to see what they were both thinking for Geralt's first day. This chapter was like pulling teeth, which is why it took so long to get out. The good news is that the last chapter is already written, and I have a pretty clear idea of what I want for the chapters in between this one and the last one. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 5

Geralt didn’t know what to do.

He was in love with Jaskier.

Looking back on it, it seemed obvious. How Jaskier’s rambling had slowly gone from annoying to endearing, how Geralt had stopped waiting for Jaskier to run into him on the Path and had started heading straight to Oxenfurt in the spring instead, how Jaskier’s scent had gone from mildly irritating to the smell of comfort, to the smell of home just as much as the smell of Kaer Morhen. How Geralt would have never told him, but he adored Jaskier’s voice, how Jaskier was the only bard whose voice didn’t grate on his nerves.

He’d never thought about it before, but really, he adored every part of Jaskier, from his chamomile scent to his cornflower eyes to his lovely voice. He had missed him like a limb, and when he realized Jaskier must have died it had crushed him. 750 years later and he still considered pushing Jaskier away to be his greatest mistake. 

So yes, he loved Jaskier. He loved him completely. 

But had Jaskier felt the same?

Geralt wasn’t sure, honestly. Jaskier had certainly  _ said _ he loved Geralt on more than one occasion, but those were always for small things, meaningless things. Things like Geralt deciding to stop in an inn for the night, or when he bought Jaskier fresh bread at the bakery. Besides, Jaskier had always been rather free with his affection. He had never feared Geralt, not really, and he had always been the type to sling an arm over Geralt's shoulder or press up against him in the night. It was entirely possible that these were just empty affections, that Jaskier never really meant anything by them.

Even if Jaskier  _ had _ loved Geralt, had he loved Geralt like Geralt loved him? Geralt has learned that there were many types of love over the years. What he felt for Ciri was different than what he was feeling now, for example. He was certain he was in love with Jaskier romantically, but even if Jaskier had meant it when he said he loved Geralt, who’s to say he didn’t love him as a friend only?

Geralt had never seen evidence that Jaskier was even interested in men. Granted, one had had to be careful about that sort of thing in those days, and while it was certainly better now there was still cause to be cautious. Geralt himself had pushed those urges down completely until recently, reasoning that he was already a Witcher and people didn’t need more reasons to hate him. Besides, male whores were rare, and those who weren’t paid to do it were rarely interested in keeping him company, Yennefer being a notable exception.

And, perhaps, Jaskier. 

Would things have been different, had Geralt figured this out 750 years ago? Would he have gotten to stay beside Jaskier, to live beside him until the end of his days, to go to the coast like Jaskier had wanted? Or would he have pushed it away, convinced himself that because Jaskier was mortal he shouldn’t get too attached, that the man would only die on him and cause him more hurt later?

Hadn’t he done that anyway, though?

Geralt shook his head at himself. He had been such a fool. He knew now that it would have been better to stay by Jaskier, to watch him grow old and die than it was to never see him again. He would have had closure at least, knowing how it happened. He would have had years more of memories to bask in when the mood struck him. The memories he had wouldn’t have been tainted by his mistakes. 

But it was no matter now, whether Jaskier had been in love with him or not. Jaskier as he knew him had died centuries ago. This new version of him still considered Geralt a stranger. 

Geralt had twenty-two years of experience when it came to Jaskier, but Jaskier didn’t really know Geralt at all. To him, he was his new bodyguard that he had hired out of necessity and had only really had two conversations with. They were strangers, boss and employee that hadn’t known each other for longer than a few days.

His heart ached at the thought of starting over with Jaskier completely. Jaskier being angry at him would be better than the singer not knowing him at all. But he had a second chance here, even if he could never tell Jaskier that it was a second chance. He would build their relationship again, and hopefully, fate willing, Jaskier would come to love him as much as he loved Jaskier.

But if he didn’t, that would be alright. It would hurt, but Geralt wouldn’t force himself into a relationship. Jaskier deserved happiness above anything else, and if Geralt wasn’t what made him happy then he would stand aside for whatever would. 

That didn’t mean he was going down without a fight, however. He would do his damndest to show Jaskier that he was an option, and if Jaskier turned the option down, then that was alright, but if he wanted Geralt, then Geralt would be more than happy to be there for him.

He had waited 750 years for this, even if he didn’t know he was waiting. He could wait a few more.

***

Jaskier wasn’t ashamed to admit he had avoided leaving his apartment for a few days.

He didn’t know how to deal with this, okay? The man he had been (still was) in love with had waltzed back into his life 750 years later and he didn’t know how to act around him. Did he act just like he used to? Did he act differently? Which would get rid of him quicker?

But he was playing at an event soon, and he needed a new outfit for it. Well, he didn’t strictly  _ need _ it, per se, but he had a tradition of getting a new outfit for every show that wasn’t for a tour, and the damn Witcher wasn’t going to stop him from adhering to his traditions. So he called Geralt, told him to be ready at one, and tried very hard not to think too hard about who he’d be spending his afternoon with. 

Geralt was at his door at one exactly, and together they walked to the car. They sat in the back together again while the driver drove them to the mall, but this time Geralt didn’t try to start a conversation. Good, he was acting like Jaskier expected him to. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a clusterfuck after all. 

When they got to the store the silence continued, and Jaskier couldn’t stand it anymore and started to prattle on about the clothes he’d gotten for all the shows he did, dragging Geralt through the mall to his favorite store. When he looked back, Geralt had that same look in his eyes that he’d had when Jaskier had talked about his favorite song. The one that could be called fond of Jaskier didn’t know better. So Jaskier determinedly ignored it, turning back around and continuing to talk. The sooner he annoyed Geralt back out of his life, the sooner he could know peace.

When they got to the store, Jaskier started to peruse the racks, looking for the perfect outfit. He wasn’t having much luck, until-

“Jaskier?”

He turned and looked at Geralt, who was holding up a blue button-up shirt in a floral pattern. It was- perfect, really, his favorite color and just his style. Jaskier stared dumbly at Geralt for a moment. He had always thought that the Witcher didn’t have any fashion sense, for all the black that he wore and all the shirts he kept for decades. Maybe Jaskier had rubbed off on him more than he thought. 

“That’s- that’s rather lovely, thank you. I’ll add it to the pile of things to try on.”

Geralt smiled at him, that small, fond thing that had convinced Jaskier that they were friends so long ago, and handed it over. Their fingertips brushed during the exchange, and Jaskier swallowed and mentally told his too-fast heart to  _ knock it the fuck off. _ He would not fall into this trap again.  _ He would not. _

He picked out a few more shirts, along with some jackets and jeans, still rambling about other clothes he had to Geralt, who never once complained about it. When he went to try them on, Geralt sat outside the dressing room, offering his opinion on the clothes he wore. Some were more positive than others, but none were negative, even when Jaskier walked out in what was probably the ugliest outfit he’d ever worn, really, how could these clothes look so good on the rack but so terrible on him. Geralt still said he looked nice though, and Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Honestly Geralt, you don’t have to lie. I know I look terrible.”

Geralt had given a  _ hmm. _ That old part of Jaskier who had spent years decoding what those meant translated it as  _ You’re wrong, but I’ll indulge you. _ Jaskier’s translator must be malfunctioning.

“You look great in anything. But I’ll admit you’ve looked better.”

Jaskier swallowed again before storming back into the changing room. How unfair could this man be? Being all  _ nice _ and giving him  _ compliments _ and piercing straight through all the walls he’d built around his heart. 

The last outfit he tried included the shirt that Geralt had picked out, and Jaskier had to admit that it did look pretty amazing on him. He paired it with a jacket and jeans and walked out, and he could have sworn that Geralt stopped breathing for a moment. It was probably just wishful thinking on his part though. 

“That’s… if you want my opinion, that’s the one.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt for a moment before turning back to the mirror. He  _ did _ look rather good, didn’t he? Maybe Geralt didn't completely lack any sense of fashion. 

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

After they bought the clothes, Jaskier made Geralt carry the bags in a desperate attempt to annoy him enough to get rid of him before he could worm his way into Jaskier’s heart again. It didn’t seem to work, as Geralt still seemed in good spirits when they got back to the car. Jaskier continued to prattle on to fill the silence, this time about the show he was doing in a few days, and Geralt continued to look at him with that  _ look _ in his eyes. It was driving Jaskier insane.

When they got back to his apartment he made Geralt carry the bags again, as well as open the door with the spare key. Geralt still didn’t seem to mind. Honestly, where was the man’s pride? Jaskier was treating him like a pack mule and he didn’t get a single flash of annoyance!

Geralt set the bags on his living room table and said a quick goodbye before leaving. Jaskier collapsed on his couch and let out a big sigh.

There was no way out of this without heartbreak, was there?

  
  



	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Geralt POV this time, sorry, but that's how the chapter wrote itself. It's almost 3k words though, so hopefully, that makes up for it.

Jaskier wasn’t the type to get stage fright.

He had always thrived off of the attention of a crowd, whether it be that of a small tavern in the middle of nowhere or a royal court, a bar in downtown or a sold-out venue. He didn’t know if it was a siren thing or a him thing, but more than anything he loved to sing and have people enjoy what they heard.

He was excited about tonight. It was his first concert since his tour, and while it certainly wasn’t the biggest venue he’d ever sung for, it was nothing to sneeze at. He even had a new song or two to test out on the crowd. Even Geralt’s presence couldn’t bring his mood down.

He was in the green room backstage putting some final touches on his makeup for the evening, wearing the outfit he’d picked out at the mall earlier that week. His excitement over the upcoming performance was quickly being dampened by his frustration. He just couldn’t get this damn eyeliner right…

He let out a sigh of frustration as he wiped the latest failed attempt from his eyes. He was normally better at this, he swore it, but something about tonight had his hands shaking ever so slightly, just enough to mess up the eyeliner every time he tried to apply it. 

(The part of him that was getting harder and harder to ignore with each passing day said that it was because Geralt would be hearing him perform for the first time in seven and a half centuries. Jaskier internally scoffed at that ridiculous voice in his head and squashed it down.)

“Problems?” a deep rumbling voice asked from behind him.

Jaskier pointedly did  _ not _ jump, absolutely not, he had not forgotten Geralt was in the room with him in his frustration.

“Just can’t get this damn eyeliner on right. Keeps getting crooked.”

“Hmm. You’ll be far enough away from everyone that no one should notice.”

Jaskier let out another frustrated sigh.

“Yes, but  _ I’ll _ know. It’s the principle of the thing.”

Geralt let out another  _ hmm _ that Jaskier tried valiantly to pretend didn’t set his heart thumping just that little bit faster and walked up to him, taking the liquid eyeliner pen out of his hand.

“Want to see if I can do better?”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment in disbelief. Geralt was- offering to do his makeup? What in the world was going on? Geralt smiled, actually smiled, and Jaskier realized he had nodded dumbly out of pure shock.

“Close your eyes.” that deep voice said, and Jaskier was helpless to deny him, always had been, and his eyes slipped shut.

He held his breath as the pen skated just above the seam of his eyelid, gentle, ever so gentle, as though the hand behind it wasn’t capable of incredible feats of strength. It vaguely occurred to Jaskier that he hadn’t for a moment thought that Geralt would turn that strength against him, hadn’t hesitated at all when Geralt asked him to allow him unsupervised access to his eyes, one of the most vulnerable parts of his body.

He must have lost himself in it for a moment because the next thing he knew Geralt was tapping him on the shoulder and telling him that he was done. Jaskier opened his eyes to look in the mirror to find a pair of perfect cat eyes, better than he had ever managed it himself.

Damn Witcher’s steady hands.

“They’re… they’re perfect, thank you,” Jaskier said slightly breathless.

Geralt nodded before holding up the jacket he’d picked out, holding it in such a way that it was clear he was expecting Jaskier to allow him to help him put it on rather than take it himself. Jaskier swallowed before turning around, his back to Geralt’s front, and let Geralt guide the fabric over his arms.

When the jacket was on Jaskier turned back around to find Geralt with that same damned look in his eye, the one that Jaskier would call  _ fond _ if he didn’t know better. Geralt reached up to tug at the edges of the jacket to make sure everything was in place. The Witcher’s eyes flicked down to his chest, and then back to Jaskier’s, their golden hue as beautiful as the day they had met, and Jaskier really should stop this before he did something stupid-

There was a knock at the door, and a voice came from the other side.

“Mr. Pankratz? You’re on in five!”

It was like a spell had been broken. Geralt pulled away and smiled at him again, and why the fuck was he being so smiley all of the sudden? He had smiled more at Jaskier in the last week than he would have for months on the Path.

Geralt looked him up and down one last time, before giving a low hum of approval.

“You look good.”

Jaskier took a moment to gather himself before replying.

“Yes, thank you.”

Geralt smiled at him yet again, a soft, achingly gentle thing, before he held out the mic that Jaskier was to wear tonight. Jaskier took it and slid it over his ear to rest against his cheek, making sure it wasn’t on yet. He walked over to the corner of the room and picked up his guitar from where it had been resting on its stand, before walking back over to Geralt.

“See you afterward, I suppose.”

Geralt reached up to brush something off Jaskier’s right shoulder and grinned.

“Go out there and sing a song as good as the Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Jaskier blinked at him. Had he really been paying attention to Jaskier’s ranting?

“I always do.”

He walked out of the greenroom, past the bustling employees of the venue making sure everything was in place, and to the edge of the stage and waited for his cue. The manager of the stage nodded at him and gave him the symbol to let him know his mic was now on, and he plastered his biggest stage smile on his face before walking out onto the stage to screams of admiration.

Gods, this was a heady thing. To know that this many people had chosen to see  _ him _ , had  _ paid _ to see  _ him _ , had probably bought his album, and at least a few of them would buy more of his merch after the show. To have adoring fans screaming his name, loving his voice even when he hadn’t used his Voice, knowing it was just that good without the magic of Siren’s Song…

It was better than any drug.

“Hello, Brooklyn! How are we feeling tonight?” 

A wave of sound came at him in response, loud enough that if he hadn’t grown used to it over tour he might have stumbled. He laughed, a loud joyous thing.

“Great, great! Well, I’ve got a pretty good set here tonight if I do say so myself, so hopefully, we can keep the good mood up!”

The cheering only rose in pitch in response, and Jaskier’s smile was giddy, like a child who’s had too many sweets before bed.

“Alright! Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer, good people! Let’s start off with a classic, yeah? This one’s called ‘Siren’.”

It was the first song he had ever written in this new century. Maybe it had been a little cocky of him to write a song about what he was, but hey, if people thought that as far as he was concerned Sirens were just something to make a pretty metaphor for a lover out of, then all the better. 

He sang a few more of his hits, as well as all of the songs from his album. He didn’t have enough in his new repertoire to pick and choose which songs to play yet, but the crowd was clearly happy with it, especially since they demanded an encore the second he started to wrap up.

Jaskier chuckled.

“Well, you’ve been a lovely crowd, but I’m afraid I don’t have any other songs officially to sing for you…”

The  _ awww _ of disappointment was quite impressive actually, and made Jaskier reconsider. There was one song that he had been working on this past week, but it was a little on the nose when it came to Geralt… Well, it’s not like Geralt was likely even paying attention, he had always hated Jaskier’s voice. 

“... but there is one little number that I’ve been working on this past week. It’s a little unfinished, but do you want to hear it?”

The scream of affirmation caught him off guard a bit, but he gave a winning smile to the crowd anyway.

“Alright, alright! It goes a little something like this…

_ I walk through the woods with you _

_ The air was cold _

_ But something bout it felt like home somehow and I _

_ Left my shirt there _

_ On the lowest bough _

_ And you’ve still got it _

_ In your drawer _

_ Even now _

_ Oh your gruff disposition _

_ And my wide-eyed gaze _

_ I’m singing on the road _

_ We’re getting lost upstate _

_ Autumn leaves falling down like _

_ Pieces into place _

_ And I can picture it _

_ After all these days…” _

The song was about Geralt, of course it was. It hadn’t taken Jaskier long to go back to writing about him once he bastard waltzed back into his life. Jaskier should probably have some dignity, honestly.

_ ‘...And I know it’s long gone and _

_ There was nothing else I could do _

_ And I forget about you long enough _

_ To forget why I needed to _

_ Cause here we are again in the _

_ Middle of the night _

_ We’re pressed against each other _

_ Under the full moon’s light _

_ Not a care _

_ I was there _

_ I remember it _

_ All too well _

_ Maybe we got lost in translation  _

_ Maybe I asked for too much _

_ But maybe this thing was a masterpiece _

_ Till you tore it all up _

_ Running scared _

_ I was there _

_ I remember it  _

_ All too well _

_ Yeah you come around again  _

_ Just to brush off our connection _

_ So casually cruel _

_ In the name of my protection _

_ I’m a crumbled up _

_ Piece of paper lying here _

_ Cause I remember it all, all, all _

_ Too well _

_ Time won’t fly it’s like I’m _

_ Paralyzed by it _

_ I’d like to be my old self again _

_ But I’m still trying to find it _

_ After laid back days _

_ And nights where I felt so known _

_ Now I pick up my things and I _

_ Walk home alone _

_ But you keep my old shirt _

_ From that very first week _

_ Cause it reminds you of innocence _

_ And It smells like me _

_ You can’t get rid of it _

_ Cause you remember it _

_ All too well _

_ Cause here we are again when I _

_ Loved you so _

_ Back before you lost _

_ The one real thing you’ve ever known _

_ It was rare  _

_ I was there _

_ I remember it  _

_ All too well _

_ Wind in my hair _

_ You were there _

_ You remember it all _

_ Not a care _

_ You were there _

_ You remember it all _

_ It was rare _

_ I was there _

_ I remember it _

_ All too well” _

Silence reigned for a moment after he finished before a thunderous applause took over the room. Jaskier grinned through what was absolutely not tears in his eyes and gave a bow, before telling the crowd that they’d been wonderful and exiting the stage. Geralt was there, surprisingly, waiting for him at the edge of the stage. He clapped him on the back before saying “You sure gave them a hell of a show”, and falling into step behind him.

They made it back to the green room unscathed, and Jaskier made a beeline towards the complimentary wine. He’d thought singing that song would be okay, but something about singing it in front of a crowd had reawoken his heartbreak. Jaskier was determined not to let it stay that way; hopefully, a little booze would take the edge off.

He had more than a little. 

By the time Geralt decides he’s had enough he’s a giggling mess who can barely stand up straight and he’s slurring all his words.

“Y’know, Geralt… you’re like, my best friend.”

Geralt, who is leading him out the door with an arm wrapped around his waist, grunts.

“You’ve known me for less than two weeks.”

Jaskier almost corrects him, but he still has just enough sense about him to stop himself from giving up the game.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but like… you talk to me about things  _ I  _ want to talk about. It’s not just  _ business  _ or  _ socialite bullshit. _ And you remember what I say… can’t say that for anyone else, really.”

Geralt goes oddly quiet at that, and they don’t talk much on the way to Geralt’s car. His driver had been out sick, so Geralt had driven him here instead. It was a fairly new model, maybe a few years out of date, and all black.

Jaskier would bet good money that Geralt had named it Roach.

Geralt led him to the passenger seat and sat him in it, buckling the seatbelt for him when Jaskier neglected to do it himself, before going around the front and climbing into the driver's seat and starting the car. 

Jaskier stares out the window as the city lights pass by for a while but quickly grows bored. Normally he would talk, but for some reason, he doesn’t quite feel like it. 

So, naturally, he decides to start rifling through the glove box to see if there’s anything interesting in there.

It vaguely occurs to him that he really shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s just drunk enough not to care about personal boundaries and boring things like that. Besides, Geralt doesn’t stop him, seemingly content to let him entertain himself.

It’s mostly boring shit in the glove box anyway. Napkins, straws, a flashlight. Proof of insurance for the car. The owner's manual. Normal, boring things.

Until he gets to the bottom and finds a goldmine of interesting.

The first thing is a vial of oil. Glass, very,  _ very _ old. Jaskier thinks there must be some kind of preservation charm on it because it looks like it was from the time when he and Geralt were traveling together the  _ first  _ time. Jaskier pops the cork and takes a whiff, and finds that the oil is distinctly chamomile. His favorite.

The second item he recognizes immediately. Lute strings. He’d needed to replace these often, back when they walked the Path together, and he knows good quality when he sees it. These are definitely good quality. Akin to the finest he’d ever bought, and they look just as old as the oil.

Two of his favorite things, besides the sea, sitting in Geralt’s glovebox.

“Geralt?”

Geralt hums and turns to look at him. They’re stuck in traffic, about a block away from Jaskier’s apartment, so he doesn’t have to keep his eyes on the road. When he sees what Jaskier’s holding, he sucks in a breath and gets this look in his eye, like a deer caught in headlights.

“What’s this?”

Geralt looks at him for a moment before swallowing hard and looking away.

“A reminder.” He grumbles.

Jaskier feels like he shouldn’t keep up the questioning because Geralt is clearly uncomfortable, but he’s just drunk enough to keep pushing.

“A reminder of what?”

Geralt has his eyes firmly on the road now even though no one’s moving, and doesn’t spare Jaskier a glance.

“Of my greatest mistake.”

The world came crashing down around him.

He’d tried, oh how he’d tried, not to let himself get attached again, not to let himself fall in  _ love _ again, but apparently, he’d failed quite miserably at it. He feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest and stomped on,  _ again, _ as though he’s back on that damned mountain watching his best friend, his  _ love _ blame him for everything that had gone wrong in his life.

_ His greatest mistake. _

By the gods, why was Geralt even still here then?! Why hadn’t he quit, why was he staying if he considered Jaskier to be his greatest mistake?

Jaskier stared out the window as his thoughts spiraled downwards, not noticing when the car started to move again, or when they stopped for good. 

“Jaskier? We’re here.”

Jaskier looked over at Geralt with a blank expression on his face and didn’t respond. Geralt looked at him, something akin to worry in his eyes before he sighed and left the car walking around to open Jaskier’s door for him. Jaskier was out of the car before he had even finished opening the door, walking briskly to the entrance of the apartment building. If Geralt were human, he’d have left him in the dust, but he was a Witcher and was able to keep pace with him easily.

Jaskier didn’t know why he bothered. What did he care if Jaskier fell flat on his face? What did he care if Jaskier broke down in the parking garage?

Geralt tries to ask if he’s okay, but Jaskier knows better than to think he cares about the answer now and doesn’t respond. The Witcher follows him all the way to the elevator, and beyond that to his door, which Jaskier promptly opens and then slams in his face.

  
He needed more alcohol.  _ Now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is a rewritten version of All Too Well by Taylor Swift. The last chapter is already written and will be up tomorrow at the absolute latest. I wouldn't leave you guys with that ending for long, I'm not THAT cruel. Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is where the tag 'Altered Mental States' comes in. See the endnotes for more details.

Geralt was worried about Jaskier.

He had gotten incredibly drunk last night, and while Geralt hadn’t smelled or seen any signs of alcohol poisoning on him, Jaskier had also slammed the door in his face before he could make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid like fall asleep on his back. Geralt had thought that he should give him his space, but a short time ago the image of Jaskier choking on his own vomit invaded his mind and Geralt had been pacing anxiously ever since.

Geralt wasn’t sure if it was his place to check on Jaskier. A long time ago it would have been, but this was a new Jaskier, a different Jaskier. And Geralt was just the bodyguard. Surely the singer had friends, people close to him that he’d be more comfortable seeing him in this state. 

Except, from what Geralt had gathered,  _ he didn’t. _ The only people who ever texted him texted him about work, and he had accompanied Jaskier whenever he left his apartment for the last week and a half and he had never once met a friend. He had plenty of  _ acquaintances _ , sure, people he was friendly enough to greet and exchange pleasantries with, but he didn’t seem to have any  _ friends. _ Then, there was the thing he had said last night, about how no one talked to him about what he wanted to talk about...

Which meant that if anyone was going to check on him it would probably have to be Geralt. 

Geralt sighed, picked up the key to Jaskier’s apartment that Jaskier had given him while they were shopping and never taken back, and was out the door. 

Jaskier’s apartment wasn’t all that far from his, and it didn’t take too long to get there. Geralt greeted the doorman and waited anxiously in the elevator as it ascended too slowly for his liking.

With his excellent hearing, he could hear Jaskier singing before the door even opened. 

With confirmation that the former bard was okay, he reached out to press the button that would take him back down, before he stopped and his worry increased tenfold.

He knew that melody.

_ “The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, _

_ Fool, better stay out of sight…” _

Geralt walked slowly toward the door to Jaskier’s apartment, panic beginning to overwhelm him. That song had been lost to the ages.  _ No one _ should know that song.

_ “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting. _

_ If this is the path I must trudge…” _

Some of Jaskier’s work had survived. He was quite the famous bard back in the day, it wasn’t terribly surprising. For some reason, they thought his name had been Dandelion, but songs like “Toss a Coin” and “The Fishmonger’s Daughter” had been passed down. “Her Sweet Kiss”, his final work, had never been written down, at least not that anyone found. Some words were preserved, but most of them, and the melody, had been lost to time to all but Geralt, whom the song had haunted ever since he heard it.

Jaskier shouldn’t know them.

Not unless he remembered writing them.

_ “I welcome my sentence, _

_ Give to you my penance, _

_ Garroter, jury, and judge…” _

Geralt put the key in the lock and turned it frantically, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late. The door swung open, and Geralt stalked in quietly.

_ “But the story is this, _

_ She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, _

_ Her sweet kiss…” _

Jaskier was in the kitchen, still in last night’s clothes, standing in front of the coffee maker and swaying gently to the beat of the song he shouldn’t know. He turned around to look at Geralt, and his eyes were still hazy with liquor. He smelled of sadness, more extreme than Geralt had smelled on him before, in his new life or his previous one.

“Geralt. What are you doing here.”

His voice was melodic as always, but it’s like all the emotion has fled from it. There’s no inflection, no dramatic pause. It’s like all the fight has left him.

_ I was worried about you. Are you alright? How’s your head?  _ Is what comes to mind.

“How do you know that song?” Is what he says instead.

Jaskier smiles, a small, joyless thing, and asks another question instead of answering his.

“Why haven’t you quit yet?”

He sounds almost… bored. Like he’s only mildly curious about the answer. Geralt is completely caught off guard. Jaskier was a creature of motion, and yet, if it weren’t for the rising and falling of his chest and the fact that he was speaking, he would be so still Geralt would fear he was dead. Never, not in all their twenty-two years together, had Jaskier acted like this. 

If Jaskier could smell emotions like Geralt could, he’s sure he’d be choking on his worry.

“What? If you wanted me to quit, why haven’t you just fired me?” Geralt asks dumbly.

Jaskier leans against the counter, hands planted on either side of his waist. 

“I haven’t fired you because I’m in love with you. But I know you hate me. I know I was never anything but an annoyance to you. I know you consider our relationship your ‘greatest mistake’. Honestly, why did you even take the job in the first place?”

What? Jaskier loved him? But he thought- why? 

Unbidden, the memory of last night rose to his mind, of Jaskier finding the lute strings and chamomile oil, some of his favorite things, of him asking what they were-

Of Geralt being a tactless idiot.

Had that been what had done it? Had Geralt’s carelessness been his friend’s- his  _ love’s _ undoing?

“Jaskier- no, I don’t hate you-”

Suddenly, the singer’s eyes filled with an indescribable  _ rage _ , and the scent of it filled the air like a toxic gas. Geralt would have been relieved of the show of emotion had it not been aimed at  _ him _ . 

**“Don’t lie to me!”**

A  _ haze  _ settled over Geralt’s mind. He suddenly has the single-minded focus of doing whatever Jaskier wants him to do, whatever he asks, by the gods all he wants is to do whatever he asks-

Through the magically induced calm Geralt could hear Jaskier speaking frantically, saying  _ shit _ , and  _ I’m so sorry _ , and  _ I didn’t mean to, I’ll release you right away _ .

Geralt realizes four crucial things in a split second.

The first is that he’s felt this before. His mind comes back to him a little, and he recognizes what’s happened.

_ Siren’s Song _ .

The Song’s hold over his mind dissipates almost completely with that realization. Witcher’s are mostly immune to any form of mind control, the fact that Jaskier- a siren, fuck, that’s certainly news to him- was able to affect him for even a moment, especially without actually  _ singing, _ speaks to his power. It’s still got a hold of him, but he can think clearly, and if he really wanted to shake it off he could. But he trusts Jaskier, so for the moment, he lets it stay.

The second is that sirens can’t be reincarnated. If Jaskier is a siren now, then he’s  _ always _ been a siren. Even on the road, all those centuries ago, which- makes sense, now that he thinks about it. The way that villagers were always nicer to them after Jaskier sang for them, how Jaskier’s scent always had a dash of sea salt in it, how Jaskier had wanted to go to the coast, to go  _ home _ -

He would ponder the ramifications of that in a moment.

The third is that Jaskier had used his Song to Command him not to lie. Geralt is currently under what is essentially a truth spell.

The fourth is that Jaskier has been utterly convinced by Geralt’s recurring stupidity and difficulty with words that he hates him, and will likely not be swayed by anything other than drastic measures. 

Drastic measures like saying what he feels under what is essentially a truth spell. 

Jaskier has raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak, to release him from the Song, but even under its hold Geralt is faster.

“I’m not lying. You’re not my greatest mistake, I don’t hate you. I love you, Jaskier.”

The siren gapes at him for a long moment, and if Geralt wasn’t still a little under the Song he’s sure he would be smelling surprise and shock. They stay like that for a long minute, simply staring at each other, before Jaskier remembers himself enough to release him from the Song’s hold. 

The haze leaves him completely, and all that’s left are Jaskier and Geralt. Jaskier is still staring at him in shock, and yes, Geralt can certainly smell it now, but he can smell something else too- hope.

Geralt walks toward him slowly, like he would a frightened animal. It seems it hasn’t quite hit Jaskier that he just outed himself as a siren to a Witcher in the worst way possible, and if it were any other Witcher he’d certainly have been run through with the silver by now. But Geralt  _ knows _ Jaskier,  _ knows _ it was an accident,  _ knows _ that if Jaskier had wanted to hurt him he would have done it all those years ago. 

He moves forward until he’s in Jaskier’s space, until he can almost feel the little puffs of breath the former bard lets out. He slowly wraps his hand around his hip and rests in there, not pressing or gripping, making sure that Jaskier has enough space to move away if he wants to. He keeps his other hand at his side so that if the siren wants to he has a clear escape route. Geralt isn’t caging him in, isn’t trapping him. Jaskier is not his prey.

His little lark’s breath hitches, his eyes wide. Geralt sniffs the air to make sure he’s not afraid, and- no,  _ definitely _ not fear.

“Should’ve known you were a siren. Your voice is too pretty to be human.”

Jaskier licks his lips and takes a deep breath before responding, seeming to try to pull himself together.

“Not- not like a pie with no filling?”

Geralt gives a low chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Definitely not.”

Geralt isn’t quite sure which one of them moves first, but suddenly they’re on each other, Jaskier’s hands are in his hair and Geralt’s other hand is running up and down Jaskier’s back in broad strokes, and their lips are sealed together and it’s everything Geralt hadn’t realized he’d always wanted. 

Jaskier makes a little moaning sound, one Geralt probably wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, and tugs on his hair and-

He’s so  _ tense _ .

Geralt tries to soothe him, tries to slow down the kiss and gently run his hands over his skin, but Jaskier keeps pushing, keeps kissing him like he’s afraid that Geralt’s going to disappear-

And suddenly Geralt remembers Jaskier’s eyes, how they were still hazy with liquor. Jaskier’s still  _ drunk _ , tipsy at the least, but considering how he had lost control of his Song Geralt would bet on more drunk than not, and this can’t go any further if Jaskier’s not sober. 

Geralt pulls away, gently shushes the siren when he whimpers and tries to chase him, and begins to tug him toward the couch. When they reach it he pulls Jaskier on top of him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, running his fingers through the short brown hair. Jaskier goes  _ limp _ , like all his strings have been cut, and closes his eyes, and Geralt listens to his heartbeat slow and his breathing even out as he falls asleep. 

Geralt keeps carding his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, gentle and easy, and marvels at the morning's revelations. Jaskier loves him, and he remembers all their time together, and Geralt can  _ have this _ . 

When Jaskier is sober, they’re going to have a long conversation about how this miscommunication happened and how to avoid a fuck up like this in the future. But for now, Geralt is going to let the siren sleep off the booze. He’s waited 750 years for this, he can wait a little longer.

***

Jaskier wakes up to an absolutely  _ splitting  _ headache in direct contrast with the pleasant feeling of fingers running through his hair and a very slow, steady heartbeat sounding in his ear. 

He breathes deeply and scrunches his eyes, trying to block out the light. His pillow  _ moves _ , and  _ oh,  _ that’s not a pillow, it’s a person. The heartbeat and the hands in his hair should have clued him in, really. The person sits up and leans him back against the couch upright, and then two pills are being pressed into his right hand and a glass is being pressed into his left, and after briefly opening his eyes to confirm what the pills are he takes the pain relievers gratefully.

When he finally feels well enough to face the light of the world, he comes face to face with a pair of golden eyes, and his heart stutters.

“Geralt? What are you doing here?”

Geralt smiles at him indulgently and places a hand on his knee.

“What do you remember from this morning?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows and thinks about it for a moment, and it all comes rushing back with a vengeance. Finding the strings and oil. Geralt saying they were a reminder of his biggest mistake. Slamming the door in Geralt’s face. Drinking more. Singing “Her Sweet Kiss”, something he only did when he was  _ very  _ upset. Geralt appearing in his kitchen. Losing control of his Song. Geralt telling him he loves him when he physically couldn’t lie. Geralt kissing him.

Jaskier bolts upright in a panic- his Song, what had he  _ done- _ but Geralt places a hand on his chest and gently pushes him back before leaning in close to mumble in his ear.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m not mad. I know the Song was an accident. It’s okay, you can relax.”

And, gods help him, he trusts Geralt not to lie to him. He relaxes back into the cushion, and the Witcher rewards him with an achingly gentle kiss to the side of his neck. Geralt strokes his hand up and down his arm, and Jaskier just lets himself- bask, for a moment. This is nice. This is very nice.

But he still remembers Geralt’s gruff voice as he said  _ a reminder of my greatest mistake, _ and even though he had said  _ Jaskier _ wasn’t his greatest mistake while under the Command to not lie, Jaskier still needs to know what that actually  _ meant, _ then, if he wasn’t referring to Jaskier himself. And well, Jaskier’s never been one for beating around the bush, so he bites his lip, takes a deep breath, and just  _ asks.  _

Geralt gives a heavy sigh, and Jaskier can feel the air against his neck and it makes him shiver a bit.

“My greatest mistake was pushing you away. Jaskier, you… you’re the only one who stayed by choice. You’re one of the greatest things that ever happened to me and I… I was angry, and I took it out on you because in my mind you could take it. But just because you  _ could _ doesn’t mean you  _ deserved to _ . I bought the lute strings and chamomile oil as an apology before I realized it was going to take a lot more than that to fix it, but then I just… never saw you again. So I held onto them, as a reminder to never fuck up that badly ever again.”

That was… probably the most words Jaskier had ever heard him say at once, and he could tell it hadn’t been easy for him. Jaskier sighs and brings one of his hands up to Geralt’s shoulder, before turning his head to place a kiss on Geralt’s brow.

“I forgive you, you know. You can stop torturing yourself over it. Though we are going to have to work on how you  _ phrase _ things, dear, because that was a truly terrible miscommunication and I’d rather not repeat it.”

Geralt nods against his shoulder, seemingly done with talking for the moment, and really, that’s fine. This entire affair has been an emotional roller coaster, Jaskier could do with some nice quiet time. 

It’s his turn to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair, and he’s done this so many times before to wash it, but there’s something different about doing it just to  _ touch _ . 

Jaskier’s eyes slide closed again, and he allows himself to just  _ be _ for a while. He doesn’t have to be  _ Jaskier the singer _ or  _ Julian the businessman _ right now, he can just be  _ Geralt’s. _ The Witcher’s hand eventually settles on his hip and starts rubbing circles into it with his thumb, gentle, always so gentle, his dear Witcher could never be anything but, not with him. 

And there will have to be more talking, in the future. About the mountain, and about how Jaskier was definitely not reincarnated, and about where they were going from here- but for now, Jaskier melts into the couch as he runs his fingers through white hair, and lets his Witcher kiss up and down his neck in no particular rush, and  _ basks. _

They have all the time in the world, after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier accidentally uses his Siren's Song on Geralt, telling him not to lie to him. Geralt is able to shake most of it off fairly quickly, but there is a moment where he is fully under its control, and he remains partially under its control for a bit. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Once again, special thanks to the Toss It Back For Your Witcher 18+ discord server for listening to my ramblings. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I’ve loved you for a thousand lifetimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702668) by [FrailYard (FrailYard0220)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrailYard0220/pseuds/FrailYard)




End file.
